


The Yule Feast

by Pelydryn



Series: All the (non-painful) SMUT [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Bondage, Canon Era, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Fantasy Fulfillment, Fluff, Food Kink, Gags, Happy Ending, Humor, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgy, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Spanking, slightly cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-23 12:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13189860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pelydryn/pseuds/Pelydryn
Summary: After famine forces Arthur to cancel the Yule Feast, the knights invite their unhappy king to a special celebration of their own. It's too bad that Merlin has the night off. At least Gwaine is at the party, passing out his special spiced wine—and not off snogging Arthur's servant somewhere, thank the gods. The company is pleasant, the wine potent. But the knights are up to something, and Arthur is too hungry and miserable to deal with it. If only he could figure out what they were having for dinner…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitty_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitty_fic/gifts).



> See end note for clarification of the dubious consent tag. 
> 
> I had the idea for a certain image in my head, but since I can't draw, I had to bring it to life in story form. So here is proof that a picture is worth a thousand words… or maybe eighteen thousand. (The image is in Chapter Four; can you guess what it is?)
> 
> Thank you to my cheerleaders (you know who you are). And an especially big thank you to Kitty for contributing so much to fandom and being so generous to all. You rock, Kitty, and I hope you like this.
> 
> If you would ever like to talk with other Merlin fans, you are welcome to come chat with us! We're not all young ones, either. ;) All ages over 18 are welcome. Find info here: http://merlin-chat.livejournal.com/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merlin has an idea

It had been the hottest, driest summer that anyone could remember. Not a drop of rain fell between the shortest night and the beginning of the harvest season. And by then it was too late. 

Camelot baked under the sun's endless assault. Plants shriveled, wildfires raged, and when the wind blew, dust stung the eyes and choked the lungs. The crops all failed, one after the other. Leaves wilted, fruit shriveled, and even within the deeply shaded forests, nuts and berries struggled to grow. Streams and ponds warmed in the relentless heat, causing dangerous levels of algae growth and killing off entire populations of fish. By the end of the summer, most plant-eating animals had migrated northwards, searching for green vegetation, and many of the predators had followed. 

There were constant whispers and rumours of sorcery, though Geoffrey claimed that such severe droughts were not unheard of in the historical record. Gaius maintained that there was no sorcerer alive strong enough and malevolent enough to cause such a thing. He glanced at Merlin as he said this, a strange expression on his face. Arthur never could quite understand what those two were going on about, and he had long since written it off as another one of Merlin's quirks. There were so many it was hard to keep track of them all. But whenever he looked at his servant, he was reminded of a few: those eyes, impossibly bright; the perfect structure of the cheekbones; the smile that could light up a room; and those lips… It was best if he didn't let himself daydream about those lips. It tended to cause inconvenient reactions at inopportune times. 

They tried to salvage at least some of the harvest. All of Camelot’s citizens assisted the farmers, transporting water to the fields in an attempt to save some of the crops. Over time, as the streams dried up, even this became difficult. Arthur did his best to arrange special trading envoys to other kingdoms, hoping to secure enough food for the people of Camelot to survive the inevitable winter. It was hard to imagine dark days and frigid nights when the sun was doing its best to roast them alive. But come they would. 

The mood throughout the kingdom was grim. When autumn came without the normal rains, morale sank even lower. As a last resort, Arthur sent his knights on trading missions to other kingdoms, and they had been a success. There would not be an abundance of food this winter, but if they were careful, no one ought to starve. 

Of course they'd mostly be eating porridge at every meal, king and peasant alike. Arthur had endured worse. 

But gods, was it boring. 

Arthur cancelled all feasts until such time as food was plentiful. Occasionally Cook would make something more flavourful and sneak it to Arthur and the knights, but for the most part, they ate porridge like everyone else. 

There were several weeks still to pass before the longest night. The sky was always covered with clouds, and between snow storms the fog would drift in, painting the world an endless sea of monotonous grey. Arthur sat in his chambers, making himself spoon more of the tasteless glop into his mouth. He knew he needed the sustenance, but…

“This tastes like sawdust, Merlin. You couldn't… I don't know… convince Cook to use more seasoning?”

Merlin had been bent over the grate, cleaning out the cinders so he could lay a new fire. His tight little arse had been sticking up rather delightfully, providing a bit of distraction from the endless monotony of the food. 

Merlin sat back on his heels and turned his long, slender neck to look at Arthur. He had removed his neckerchief so as to spare it from being soiled while cleaning. Instead, ashes clung to his cheeks, neck, and collarbones. Merlin must have scratched his nose because there were streaks of black down the slope. The sight was adorable—but it also gave Arthur the urge to wipe the ash off: first from the nose, and then from the elegant lines of his neck… and those collarbones—gods, he would be happy to lick it off with his tongue if it meant that he could keep going…

Of course, that couldn't happen. Arthur would never abuse his position as Merlin's master like that. Besides, Arthur was pretty certain there was something going on between his servant and Gwaine. The flirtatious jokes and overly-friendly touches made that obvious enough. Arthur had tried to resign himself to it, but whenever he saw the two of them together, he felt all strange inside. So he tried very hard not to look. 

But now… Now he couldn't help but look as Merlin screwed up his ash-covered nose, somehow managing to look even more adorable. “I don't know why you think I have any influence over Cook. She would have banned me from the kitchen long ago if I didn't have to go fetch the food for your lazy arse.”

“Are you calling your king lazy, _Mer_ lin?”

“Oh no, of course not. I'm calling the king’s _arse_ lazy. Completely different. Honestly, has the king's arse gotten around at all, lately? No wonder you're so bored.”

Wait, what? Did Merlin understand what he'd just implied? Arthur had to know. 

“Were you volunteering to help out with that?”

Arthur was gratified to see Merlin flush underneath the ashes, skin turning the same shade of pink it would if pinched. Or slapped. Possibly spanked… not that Arthur had ever imagined what handprints might look like on that pale, pale body. At least not too often. No more than twice a week. More or less. Maybe more. 

Arthur was certain he saw Merlin lick his lips nervously before answering. “Considering the size of your arse, I'm not sure I'd be the one to ask. Maybe you'd have more success with someone stronger…”

“Are you implying I'm well endowed, _Mer_ lin?”

The flush on Merlin's cheeks spread, up his brow and down the neck, showing on his chest before disappearing under the tunic. It was charming. And hot as hell. Merlin was still kneeling in front of the grate, but Arthur dearly wished his servant was kneeling in front of him instead. 

“Let's just say that limiting the food rations has been a good thing for you, oh great and mighty king.” Merlin smirked. Arthur couldn't help himself. He launched a spoonful of porridge right at that impudent face. Merlin turned away just in time for it to splat against his cheek. It mixed with the ashes and dripped towards his neck. Once again Arthur was overcome with the intense desire to lick it. He bet the porridge would taste much better if he could eat it off of Merlin…

Gods, he needed to stop thinking like this. It was torture. And his cock could really do without the constant teasing. 

“Oh, ha, ha. You're so mature. I'm relieved that Camelot is in such capable hands.” Merlin’s voice was sarcastic, but the look on his face belied the tone. His expression spoke of many things, some of which Arthur thought he could guess, others that were a complete mystery. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to that look. 

Arthur sighed. “I'm sorry, Merlin. It's just that everything is so dreadfully dreary. This food is so bland I think it might actually kill me. The knights are all going stir crazy, and I can't even provide them with a feast for Yule. It's so cold and snowy that no one can venture out. I'm about ready to—”

“Did you just _apologise_? Now I _know_ you're suffering from an extreme mental illness. Maybe if you ate your dinner instead of throwing it at hapless servants, you might get better.”

“I'll eat _you_ for dinner!” Arthur growled (because laughter would just encourage the insolence) and flung another spoonful of glop at Merlin. This time the servant jumped to his feet, laughing, and looked for something to defend himself with. Merlin found a platter that he should have returned to the kitchen after breakfast. Of course the lazy sod hadn't done it yet. 

Instead of lifting the platter as a shield, though, Merlin froze in place, staring at the silver dish. Arthur had been about to launch another volley but paused, curious, when he saw the pensive look on Merlin's face. 

“What is it?” 

Merlin pursed his lips. “You think a Yule Feast would cheer the knights up?”

Arthur shook his head in confusion. “Yes, of course, but you know there is no food for such a feast.”

Since when did Merlin ever let logic stop one of his crazy schemes? 

“And you'd be happier if Cook used a little more… _seasoning_ … in the food?”

“Oh, you can hear! I'm pleased to see those ears of yours are actually good for something besides jerking you around with, _Mer_ lin.” Actually, Arthur had some rather vivid ideas of what else those ears might be good for. But down that road lay madness. 

Merlin's face broke into a huge grin, single-handedly raising the light level in the room by two hundred percent. “That's perfect!” he exclaimed. He dropped the platter, scurried around till he found his neckerchief, and then raced from the room, leaving a trail of porridge and ashes in his wake. 

Arthur almost yelled for him to come back and at least take the platter with him. But it would be pointless; the idiot was long gone. Besides, Arthur had some rather pressing business in his trousers to attend to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur eavesdrops like a professional

A week before the longest night, Arthur wandered into Gaius’ chambers to get more ointment for an old shoulder injury that acted up in cold weather. He knew where the flasks were kept and went to help himself when the sound of voices coming from Merlin's room stopped him. Was that Merlin… and Gwaine?

A raucous laugh floated down the short flight of stairs. It sounded so delighted, so content… Arthur just had to see what was going on. The door was cracked open about a hand’s breadth. Arthur used his best knightly stalking skills to move behind the door and peek through the chink between the hinges. (Only an amateur would spy through the side where the door was ajar; that's where the eyes of anyone in the room would inevitably look first.)

Merlin sat on his bed while Gwaine lounged with his head in Merlin's lap. Merlin was idly ruffling and stroking Gwaine's too-shiny hair. Arthur had the sudden urge to institute some kind of standard military haircut. Perhaps all the knights should be shaved bald. It would be good for morale, no one different from anyone else. Obviously, there would have to be exceptions for royalty... But, wait—what was that philanderer saying? 

“It has to be you, mate, unless you don't want to? I'm not that picky, but the Princess… yeah, you're the only one that would do.”

Even with his limited sight line, Arthur could see Merlin's cheeks turn bright red. 

“Of course I want to…” he stammered. “It's just… I'm not like you… all gorgeous. And stuff. You should do it.”

Gwaine snorted in disbelief. Arthur was pleased he kept his own huff of incredulity silent. 

“Fuck, mate, have you even looked at yourself?”

Merlin shook his head. “I'm a pale, scrawny twig. No one in their right mind—”

Gwaine pressed a hand against Merlin's mouth to cut him off. Arthur considered cutting Gwaine's hand off instead. “Merlin. I'm in my right mind, and I would love to fuck you senseless. It has to be you.”

Arthur wanted to throw a gauntlet at Gwaine on the spot. But he had no right to stop Merlin from sleeping with whomever he wanted. It's not like he'd want Arthur. And even if he did let Arthur fuck him, he would probably just think he had to, since Arthur was not only his master but his king. 

“I just… I mean. I want to do it. But… you really think? I—”

Gwaine reached up, pulled Merlin's face close, and kissed him deeply. Arthur may have squawked in protest, but the two men in the room were otherwise engaged and paid the noise no attention. After a long while—during which Arthur pondered reinstituting the torture room in the dungeon he'd closed after his father's death—Gwaine pulled away. 

“Trust me, Merlin. You're the one. I'll take care of everything. It'll be the best Yule gift ever. And I have just the thing to make it perfect. Picked it up years ago from some traders. They came from a land far south where the sun never flees from winter—and they sure know how to make a party hot and spicy. I was saving it for just the right occasion. You'll love it!”

Arthur backed away then, not certain that he could listen anymore without getting jealous. Kings didn't get jealous. And they certainly wouldn't get jealous over incompetent servants. That would be completely ridiculous.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur is absolutely not jealous

The shortest day of the year was also the darkest day. Thick clouds covered the sky, and it seemed that even the sun wanted a lie-in. The castle was so cold that Arthur wondered if the stones might shatter like ice. Fuel for heating fires was rationed as firewood and charcoal had been among the items that Camelot had traded for food. The castle was warm enough that no one should freeze to death, but it was not at all a pleasant place to be. 

Traditionally, the Yule was celebrated with a great feast. Many braziers and candles would be lit in the Banquet Hall. The tables would overflow with food, and everyone would eat until they'd had their fill—and then they'd go back for more. There would be musicians to play all through the longest night. The dancing would begin at sunset (or when the murky light outside turned from mostly dark to all-the-way dark) and last until morning. It was a time of great joviality and celebration. 

Not this year, though. This year there was no food, no festivity, no fun. The Banquet Hall was dark and icy. The day would be filled with tasteless porridge and endless monotony. It was depressing, and Arthur let himself mope. He wouldn't even have the comfort of Merlin's company this evening; Gwaine had suggested that since there was no great feast, the servants might appreciate the night off to be with their own families. Huddle together for warmth, he had said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

Which meant that Merlin would probably be off with Gwaine somewhere, _stroking his hair_. Those long, slender fingers, so clever when fastening Arthur's armour, were undoubtedly skilled at many other tasks, and that bastard Gwaine would be the one to enjoy them. The cad. 

About two hours before sundown (so just after midday, practically), there was a knock on Arthur's door. It couldn't be Merlin, as the knock was much too polite. Besides, his manservant had disappeared for his night off earlier than Arthur had allowed. Maybe Arthur should have the knights round him up and throw him in the dungeons as punishment. 

But it was frigid down there. Arthur would have to go keep the poor idiot warm, obviously. How was that done? Skin to skin under a blanket, sharing body heat? Honestly, Arthur should have thrown him in the dungeon weeks ago. It wouldn't be taking advantage if he was just doing his duty to keep Merlin from turning into a servant-sicle, right?

The knock on his door repeated, louder this time. Oh yes. Someone was there. “Enter!” he called. 

It was Elyan. That was not at all who Arthur might have predicted. 

“Happy Yule, Your Highness.” Elyan shifted his weight from foot to foot, almost like Merlin might if he were worried about being caught doing something he oughtn't. Maybe Elyan was just reacting to the chill in the air. 

“Happy Yule, Sir Elyan. How can I be of assistance?” Arthur drummed his fingers on the table, impatient to get back to his thoughts about mouthy (and what a mouth it was!) manservants. 

“We—that is, the Knights of the Round Table—would like to invite you to the Yule Feast.”

Arthur was engrossed considering different uses for a certain mouth, so it took a moment to register what the knight had said. “You know I cancelled the feast, Elyan. There is certainly nothing to celebrate this year.”

Elyan grinned—it was more of a smirk, really—and said, “Yes, sire, as you say. But this is a _private_ party, for select guests only.”

Arthur frowned. “You know we have no food to spare on such frivolities.”

Elyan nodded in agreement. Was that a… mischievous look in his eye? Since when was Elyan ever mischievous?

“Yes, sire. Though some of the lads have been keeping a few things in reserve from their own stores for a special occasion. You'll come, right?”

Arthur considered it. He had planned to mope around his frigid chambers awhile and then sleep away the longest night. What else was there to do when it was dark and cold and his manservant was off with Gwaine somewhere, snogging (or worse)?

No, no, Gwaine should be allowed to keep Merlin warm. Since Arthur couldn't—no, since Arthur wouldn't. He wouldn't ever force Merlin like that. No matter how delectable his arse looked when he was bent over scrubbing things. 

Arthur felt cold inside and out. “I was actually thinking I'd call it an early night.”

Elyan’s smirk dimmed. “If I may, sire, Gwaine has some foreign concoction he picked up off a spice trader. It's supposed to be something special. And I hear the main course will be quite the treat.”

Gwaine would be there? Well, if Gwaine were there, Merlin might be too. In which case Arthur had better go keep an eye on them. Make sure everyone stayed out of trouble. 

“I guess I could come for a while. It might liven things up.”

Elyan’s smile returned to its normal brilliance. It was nothing compared to Merlin's, of course, but then, who else could ever match a smile as brilliant as that? Nobody, that's who. 

“That's great news, sire. We'll see you in the throne room at nightfall, then.”

The throne room? Where the Round Table was? For a feast? It was unusual, but there was nothing wrong with the Knights of the Round Table letting loose around their namesake for once; the gods knew they'd dealt with enough trouble and sorrow there. A few happier, festive memories wouldn't go amiss. 

Merlin didn't technically have his own chair at the table. If he showed up (which he’d better, so that Arthur could keep an eye on him), he'd have to borrow someone else's. Or…Arthur had a lap that would work just fine. Maybe that ought to be Merlin's official seat. Perhaps he should issue a royal decree to make it so. 

And with that happy thought, he began dressing for the feast. Wouldn't hurt to look his best. You never knew who might notice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are apples and carrots

The Throne Room was unlike Arthur had ever seen it before. Most of the chamber was dark, except the Round Table itself, which was bathed in light. There were smaller tables arranged around it, laden with candles and covered dishes. There were braziers burning, so the air near the table was… not quite warm, but tolerable. The room was too big to thoroughly warm. 

The knights were there, Leon and Elyan, Percival and Gwaine. They stood around the table, laughing and yelling and having an apparently delightful time. Arthur hadn't seen them be this raucous and energetic in months, and he wasn't sure why they were now. True, they were having a little get-together, but it wasn’t like they didn't see each other every day. 

There was no sign of Merlin anywhere. Arthur couldn't decide if he was more disappointed that his servant was absent or relieved that he wasn't here with Gwaine. Arthur shook his head and continued surveying the room. 

The Round Table itself was set for dinner, plates laid out as carefully as if for visiting royalty. There were more candles, and in the center of the table was the great covered platter used for roasted boar. Occasionally after a successful hunt, the entire beast would be prepared intact and presented with an assortment of vegetables and sauces. But there had been no hunt, as the animals had long since fled from Camelot for more favourable climes. 

He might have pondered the mystery of this more, but Percival came to him with a wine goblet in hand and huge smile on his face. His cheeks were bright red, and sweat beaded up on his nose. That seemed strange considering the air temperature—even calling it lukewarm would be a generous assessment.

“Your Highness! You made it!” Percival pressed the goblet into Arthur's hand. “Come. You have to try this. It's Gwaine's spiced wine, made especially for the occasion. It'll warm you up from the inside out.”

The wine was a deep red colour, not quite like any he had seen before. It almost seemed to glow, as if there were a red-hot ember lurking at the bottom. When he inhaled, the scent of it was unfamiliar but charged into his lungs with the intensity of a rampaging animal fighting for a mate. It shocked him, and he almost dropped the cup. 

“Yeah, it has quite the kick, sire. Take a drink. You won't be disappointed.”

It clearly wasn't any ordinary wine. Still, why the hell shouldn't he indulge? Arthur had been bored as fuck for weeks now, and this was the first novelty he'd seen in ages. It tasted like berries and cinnamon and sunshine, and it burnt like fire all the way down. Damn, that was good. He took another swig. Heat pooled in his stomach where the liquid sat; tendrils of warmth eased their way along his limbs. 

He swallowed more wine, more and more and more. The warmth had suffused throughout his body. It seemed like his muscles were fizzing with the delight of finally being warm again. A feeling of great relaxation came over him. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so content. 

Percival drew him over to the rest of the knights, and Arthur surprised himself with how quickly he joined in the merriment. He had not expected to enjoy himself; he had thought he'd be too busy keeping an eye on Gwaine for that. It never occurred to him that he might have a great time chatting and joking around with the object of his scrutiny. 

Someone always kept his goblet filled. The warmth spreading inside him felt like freedom. Whatever that stuff was that Gwaine had acquired, it was worth its weight in gold. The oppressive burdens of being king of a suffering kingdom floated away, leaving Arthur with a sense of joy and the ability to do anything that he might want. 

His vision focussed sharply wherever he looked while everything else blurred into a muddle of bright colours that ran together in indistinct shapes. It strengthened the impression that the painful real world was far away. All was warmth and laughter and happiness. 

And need. 

He didn't notice at first. The feeling crept up on him slowly. The warmth that had centered in his belly had spread all through his body… but now, besides the happy warn feeling all over, there was a spicier heat building, not quite in his belly. Somewhere lower…

Gwaine came over, laughter tumbling from his lips. His hair was so very shiny, and Arthur had an insane urge to rub his face in it. Wait—since when did Arthur like Gwaine's hair? Percival was horsing around, trying to pick Gwaine up… and damn, how those arm muscles were bulging. He wanted to rub the palms of his hands along them, over the swollen mounds and along the stark lines of definition. Percival was a god among men, truly… How had Arthur never noticed before?

Arthur shook himself, trying to rid himself of the urge to touch… for he had the feeling he wouldn't be able to stop himself once he started. It wasn't _quite_ such an abuse of his position with the knights… Maybe he could… a little later… Perhaps after a bit more wine…

The heat kept building along with the exhilarating call of freedom that swept through him. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and he wiped it off with his sleeve, heedless of who might see such impropriety. He looked around the room, saw the platters of food, and was reminded that this was supposedly a feast. But he was hungry for something that wasn't food. Something… that he didn't want to put a name to. 

Bright blue eyes and plump pink lips came to mind, but he was going to ignore those. Now. And always! Though since he had thought of them… gods, how he wished—

“Time to eat, lads!” Leon said. He was looking particularly cuddly at the moment… Arthur had to tamp down the urge to go throw himself into the other man’s arms. Food, he told himself. It was time for food. Maybe that would assuage this growing hunger—although somehow he suspected it might not. 

There were no servants, of course, as they had all been given the day off, so everyone helped to uncover the dishes on the side tables. The knights had managed to acquire a surprising variety of food. There was no porridge in sight. Instead, there was bread, actual freshly baked bread, wrapped in a towel and still warm from the oven, with gravy to pour on top. And there was cheese and dried fruits, nuts and small slices of salted meat. There was a tureen filled with soup, and it actually consisted of more than just hot water. 

It was very sparse compared to even a non-feastday meal during more prosperous times. But after weeks of porridge, it looked delightful. 

They each took a plate from the place settings on the Round Table and helped themselves. Even as he served himself— _and don't you dare think of the one whose job this normally was_ —Arthur knew it would do nothing to quench the flames that were smoldering deep in his gut. For that he would need…. 

More wine. Yes. He would drown out the fire with more fire. Perfect. 

At last everyone had acquired their food, and they stood together each in front of his seat at the Round Table. The large platter in the centre of the table was still covered. Arthur dearly hoped it was roasted meat. But before he could ask, Gwaine clanged his spoon against his wine goblet until everyone quietened down to listen. When he spoke, he addressed Arthur. 

“Welcome to our Yule feast, Your Highness!” Multiple cheers went up, and Gwaine grinned like a loon—a loon with exciting secrets to share. “It's been a bugger of a year, and some of the lads decided we could do with a bit o’ cheerin’ up.”

Someone—was it Leon?—let out a joyous hoot. But Arthur could only focus on one thing at a time, and right now that was Gwaine. Everything else was a muddle of candlelight and overbright colours. 

“We all contra— contrib— brought somethin’ to share.” Gwaine hiccoughed, and his eyes sparkled even as they seemed to lose focus. His face glowed cherry red, and he was panting for breath. Almost like— well, whatever it was like, Arthur felt it too. His heart beat faster in its cage, spurred on by anticipation. But anticipation of what? 

“Leon and Ellie—ahem, Elyan—brought most the food. Percival somehow had a stash of wine he managed to keep secret from me—” 

“What a miracle!” someone yelled. “Hidin’ wine from Gwaine? That's almost as impossible as gettin’ Arthur and Merlin to—”

The voice cut off abruptly. Arthur vaguely wondered about the end of that sentence, but he was paying too much attention to the tingling sensation that was building up in his groin. What the hell was in that wine?

“Hear, hear!” yelled Gwaine. “Soon enough, lads, soon enough.”

There was much hooting and stamping, though Arthur didn't quite get why. But it wouldn't do for a king to act confused. 

Gwaine guffawed. “And I brought the spice for the wine—”

“Which is damn good stuff! You've been holding out on us, my man!”

“—and the main dish, an exquisite chunk of flesh that pairs most excellently with the wine, guaranteed to keep everyone warm on a cold winter's night.”

Everyone cheered and hollered though Arthur didn't quite understand why. But the warmth in him was freedom, and freedom was joy, and that joy came bursting out of his mouth with a lack of inhibition that he had never allowed himself before. It was thrilling. 

“So without further ado, lads, let the feast begin!”

The knights clapped and cheered and stomped their feet in approval. Arthur hadn't seen them this happy and relaxed in… Well, now that he thought about it, maybe he'd never seen them quite like this. It really was unfortunate that Merlin wasn't here to enjoy it with them. 

Arthur moved to sit down so he could eat all the not-porridge, though no one else did. Instead, Gwaine and Leon went to lift the cover off of the boar platter. It would be so great to have fresh meat! He ignored the niggling thought in the back of his head that said he should have smelt the roast boar, had it been there. 

He watched with anticipation as the two men lifted the cover off to reveal… a person. A very naked person, curled up so as to fit on the boar platter. Arthur's mouth dropped open. He had _not_ been expecting that. The heat in his groin spiked at the sight. 

And what a sight it was! It was a boy, slender and lithe and so, so pale. His shins lay on the platter while his hands were tied together behind his knees. This forced his upper chest and shoulders to press into the dish while his bare arse was on obscene display. Just like when they were served roast boar, he was surrounded by roasted vegetables, carrots and spinach, aubergine and leeks. And just like with a boar, there was an apple stuffed into the boy's mouth. And then… in his arse… someone had stuffed a raw carrot. The green, leafy top of it sprayed down like a horse’s tail.

The sight was so unexpected that Arthur could only stare. His vision was hyper-focused on very specific details, but the overall picture blurred into chaotic colours that spun around the edges of his vision. He looked at that back, so pale, shining a gorgeous golden tone in the candlelight, each knob of the spine visible, highlighted by the stark interplay of shadow and light. Arthur longed to reach out and run his fingers over those knobs, one by one. The skin looked so smooth, so inviting… His eyes followed the line of the spine down to the tailbone and on to the boy’s arse cheeks. They were so tight, so perfectly white. He wanted to bite them, slap them, leave marks all over them. His marks. 

The heat in his groin intensified even more. His cock, which had jumped to life as soon as he saw the boy, was now so hard it was painful. Oh, how Arthur longed to set it free ( _free, free… he had never felt so free… why couldn't all of him be free?_ ) and take the boy right then and there. 

He continued his examination. The boy's legs were incredibly long and slender, and the way they were bent and intertwined with the boy’s arms reminded Arthur of a baby deer with its limbs all askew under its body. Gods, he wanted to go pet them and break them both. What the hell was wrong with him? It just looked like those fragile bones would be so easy to snap… like a baby bird in his hand.

Then Arthur's eyes followed the line of the spine back up to the boy’s neck, which was as long and slender and beautiful as the rest of him. At the top of the neck was a mop of dark, curly hair. It was so familiar—but how could that be possible? 

Arthur had seen the apple, shining a crimson almost as deep as the wine in his goblet, though the strange way Arthur's eyes were focussing meant that he hadn't noticed any facial features. Though once he became aware of that hair… 

Arthur stood abruptly and rushed to the far side of the table, heedless of the hoots and catcalls and whistles of appreciation. He had to know. 

The apple had been set into the boy's mouth in such a way that the jaw was forced open as wide as possible, chin pressed into the platter. It obscured much of the boy's face. But the eyes were still visible, two brilliant blue eyes looking up at Arthur. Two very familiar, beloved eyes.

Merlin's eyes. 

They shone as brightly as ever, but there was a sort of dazed look to them. His face was flushed a deep ruby red, and despite being entirely naked, he was sweating. Arthur made an effort to focus on his arms, which lay along the sides of his torso before being trapped and tied under his knees. The muscles were trembling and quivering. They were covered with a sheen of perspiration that shone in the candlelight. It should be impossible—the air was not warm enough. Unless…

Unless Merlin had been drugged too?

It was hard to feel anger when his body was filled with freedom and joy and… lust. Yes, that's what it was. Lust. Logically, he knew that he ought to be angry. 

Arthur was so engaged in his examinations, he didn't notice how the other knights were reacting. But he knew he needed to have a word with one of them. He turned his head to search out Gwaine, and the colours and shapes surrounding him all rushed together into a trippy spiralling rainbow. His cock protested turning away from Merlin, tightening painfully, but he would not pay it heed. He needed to speak to Gwaine. It was urgent. If only the fire inside him would quench so that he could think properly…

Gwaine was standing much too close to Percival. He sucked up the last dregs of wine in his goblet and then stuffed a piece of bread in right after. The entire time his eyes—and Percival’s, for that matter—stared at Merlin on the platter. 

Arthur knew this should bother him for some reason, but all he could think of was how hard it was not to turn and stare too. 

Focus. He had to focus. 

“Gwaine!” he spit out. “What the fuck is this?”

Gwaine turned to Arthur, a dazed look on his face. “It's a present, Princess. And a mighty fine one it is. A true delicacy, if you ask me.”

Gods, he wasn't wrong. Arthur had never seen Merlin on display like this before, and the sight was even more mouthwatering than he would have predicted. He turned to look at all that perfect skin, glowing in the candlelight, and lost focus completely for a moment. 

He gazed and gazed at the body before him, from the bare feet peeking out underneath the carrot-stuffed hole, along the curved spine and back to that gorgeous face. Which was essentially gagged with an apple. That reminded him…. He had a mission…

“You drugged him!” he splurted out. “You can't just go around servant-napping and drugging people!”

Gwaine’s laugh rang throughout the room like peeling bells. “You think I ‘servant-napped’ _Merlin_? Not a chance in hell, mate. When have you ever been able to get that boy to do something he didn't want to? Never, that's when. And if _you_ can't get him to do stuff he doesn't want to, what chance would the rest of us have? No, no, I promise you he wants to be here. Hell, it was his idea. Came to me the other day muttering about how you were as bored and restless as a genii in a thousand-year-old lamp and how you wanted to eat him for dinner. So here's your chance, Princess. We are going to eat him for dinner.”

Arthur's head was spinning, though he wasn't sure if it was from the drugged wine or the fact that _Merlin wanted to be eaten for dinner_. Gods have mercy. 

“But the drugs! If he wanted to be here, why—”

Gwaine stepped away from Percival and hung his arm round Arthur's shoulders. “It's just the spice from the wine, Princess. Just something to keep him warm and relaxed and increase the pleasure, if you know what I mean. Stop nattering about like a mother hen. He wants this as much as we do.”

Arthur turned back to the sight on the table. Merlin's arse was angled upwards above the legs folded underneath, and it quivered slightly… was it with the strain of the position? With cold? With the influence of the drugs? Or, gods help him, could it be actual _need_? Could Merlin actually want this as much as Arthur did? 

Because fuck it all, he hadn't ever wanted something so much in his entire life. 

But no, no… he couldn't abuse his position like that. No… 

Besides, once he had a taste of that forbidden fruit (and damn, he would never be able to think of food the same way again), it would be impossible to go back to how things were before, where Arthur had to pretend day in and day out that his manservant was just a scrawny annoyance and not someone he dreamed about day… and night. Shit, he had it bad, didn't he? How had he never noticed before? If was just such a ludicrous thing. Who would ever admit to being in love with a clumsy, idiotic servant? In this case, a clumsy, idiotic, _gorgeous_ servant literally served up for him on a platter?

How was he expected to say no to that?

Gods, it was going to be a long night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the knights eat their dinner

Arthur tore himself away from Gwaine and turned his back to Merlin, hoping to ameliorate the temptation. Elyan approached, a giddy smile on his face, and pushed another goblet of wine into Arthur's hand. It was probably a terrible idea, but he really needed something to drink right now. 

Leon called out, “All right, gentlemen, let's take our seats. We wouldn't want the _food_ to get _cold_!” He sniggered, a very un-Leon-like sound. It was delightful to see him so happy, so at ease. There was no tension apparent anywhere in him, as long as you didn't look too closely at his breeches. 

Elyan lay his hand on Arthur's neck, a gentle touch that promised so much more, should Arthur want it. “Come, sire, we must eat.” Elyan led him to the place setting at the Round Table where Arthur's food waited. He pulled out the chair and used the hand still on Arthur's neck to press him into it. Before Elyan sat in his own chair, he ran his hand from Arthur's neck, over his shoulder, and down his chest. It left a trail of heat everywhere it touched. Elyan didn't stop till he reached Arthur's cock, which was as stiff as it had ever been. Elyan gave it a gentle rub, hard enough to simulate but not to alleviate. It was sheer torture. Elyan then ran his hand back up Arthur's body to his face, where he squeezed his cheek. He murmured in Arthur's ear, “I know just the thing to help you with that little problem.” Then Elyan reached out and slapped Merlin on the buttocks. Merlin jolted with the shock of it, and the slight trembling of his muscles increased. There was a bright red hand print left on the previously unblemished skin of Merlin's arse, and Arthur couldn't look away from it. 

At last everyone was sitting around the table. The food that the knights had scrounged together should have been amazing, considering the monotony Arthur had endured for months already. But even the sweet dried cherries tasted like dust in his mouth. He chewed on them dutifully, but his eyes could not stay away from Merlin, so very naked, so very perfect, so very _right in front of his nose_. 

After he swallowed a few tasteless mouthfuls, he stopped eating. There was no point in wasting the special provisions when porridge would do equally well. No one else seemed to find the food unsatisfactory. The knights stuffed their mouths in between boisterous laughs and long swigs of wine. But all that Arthur could think of was Merlin… who was so close that Arthur could reach out and scratch his nails down his back, if he so desired. The desire to mark that perfect skin, to claim it as his own, was fierce. Instead, he folded his arms and stuffed his hands into his armpits. He would not be tempted. 

And then Gwaine appeared at Arthur's side. “Princess, would you like to do the honours?” He winked and moved Arthur's mostly full plate out of the way. Then he reached out to Merlin's platter with both hands. It was surprisingly easy for Gwaine to slide it right over to the edge of the table. “Apple or carrot, my lord?”

Apple or— Oh gods, every bit of his living tissue was on fire with the desire—no, with the _need_ —to stand up, run his hands all over his Merlin (no, no, not _his_ Merlin) and then fuck him into tomorrow. No, no, it wouldn't be right, he couldn't… 

A strangled groan escaped his lips. Arthur jumped out of his chair and stepped away from the table, still unable to keep his eyes off of the beautiful boy in front of him. Everything else was blurred and shapeless; all that existed was the need to possess that idiot and be done with it. But he _couldn't_.

Gwaine stepped in between Arthur and the table and gave him a long look. “You sure you don't want to go first? I think Merlin was hoping you would”—Gwaine must be terribly drunk to spout such nonsense—”but who am I to turn down such a fine opportunity? I've always been an apple man, myself.”

He giggled—actual goddamned giggles came out of his mouth—and then he put his hands on Merlin's face, one on each cheek. He stroked them and pinched them. “You're going to be such a good little treat for me, aren't you Merlin? Such a tasty little morsel…” 

Gwaine pulled the apple from Merlin's mouth and took a bite out of it. Merlin looked nearly feverish. Did he feel the need as acutely as Arthur? Was his blood boiling with desire too? Gwaine leaned down, mouth full of apple, and kissed Merlin's lips. When he did, he used his tongue to transfer some of the apple into Merlin's mouth. Merlin swallowed it, and then said, “Please… Please… it's not enough…” 

Gwaine patted his head like a puppy. “I know just the thing!” He unfastened his trousers, and his thick cock sprang out, looking as uncomfortably erect as Arthur's. Unlike Arthur, Gwaine had no compunction against doing something about it. 

Merlin opened his mouth, and Gwaine thrust his cock right in. Arthur could see Merlin's cheeks hollow out as he sucked; that sight alone almost made Arthur come. 

Arthur couldn't look away. He was horrified and simultaneously enraptured. His body screamed at him for relief, the relief that only fucking Merlin could provide. But watching Gwaine… He had no idea that watching could be so thrilling. 

After the first few moments, Gwaine grew more aggressive. He grabbed Merlin's ears and thrust into the boy's throat as far as possible. He was like a man gone berserk. Gods, Arthur needed to possess Merlin like that. Grab, thrust, take… His cock throbbed with pain, and Arthur could bear it no more. He pressed his hand down his trousers. It only took one stroke until he was coming harder than he ever had before. He choked and yelled with the force of it, just as Gwaine was screaming out his completion. 

Arthur let himself sit on the edge of a table and tried to catch his breath. His heart raced as he panted for air. His limbs were weak and tingled all over. 

What on earth? Arthur had never experienced anything so intense, and he wasn't even the one who was touching anyone. It must be the drug—there could be no other explanation. 

Even as Arthur recovered, he couldn't take his eyes off of Merlin. He watched Gwaine pull out. There was nothing to clean as Merlin had swallowed every last drop. Gwaine redid his clothing, felt around in his pocket, and pulled out a small round thing the size of a pea. He placed it in Merlin's mouth; Merlin sucked on it and smacked his lips together. “There you go, sweetie, there's your prize. You were so good for me, so very, very good…”

Gwaine stuck the apple back into Merlin's mouth, touselled his hair, and came to stand next to Arthur. Arthur wasn't sure he could trust his voice, but he had to know. “What did you give him?” He only croaked a little. 

“That, Princess, was my secret ingredient. It's delightful in wine, of course, but a straight up shot is the fastest way to get it in to the system. Merlin is such a good lad, and he deserves to feel good too.”

What would the drug be like in such a concentrated dose? Was Merlin as hot and bothered as Arthur had been? Perhaps more so?

“Will he… get relief?” 

Gwaine smirked at him. “It's really better if he doesn't, since being fucked after a peak can be pretty hard to tolerate.” Was it? Arthur certainly had no experience with it. “So when we got him ready, I tied that beautiful cock of his up with string. I learned how from the same people who sold me the spice. There's a traditional way it's done, a series of crosses from base to tip. In their land it is considered quite the thing to tie oneself up and take a shot of the spice. The pleasure can build up for hours. They say it's an agonizing form of ecstasy, or maybe an exquisite form of agony…”

Arthur could just imagine how it would be the torture that would build up for hours. His cock perked up at the image of Gwaine tying Merlin up with string, and it wouldn't be long before it was back at full strength. Gods, it was hot in here. It made him so damn thirsty. Shit, where was more wine?

Gwaine seemed to read his mind because he found a bottle and poured more into Arthur's goblet. Or maybe he had just been topping him off all night, which was a very Gwaine thing to do. 

“Would it ease your worries if he didn't know it was you?” Gwaine asked. “So you can enjoy yourself without getting hung up on any crazy notions about honour?”

What? No, what would it matter if Merlin knew who it was? _Arthur_ would know, and that was all that mattered. But before he could say anything, Gwaine grabbed one of the elegant red serving cloths off a side table and went straight to Merlin. He whispered something in his ear, and Merlin nodded his head the slightest bit. Then Gwaine wrapped the cloth over Merlin's eyes and tied it behind his head. Oh, fuck, but it was a beautiful sight. What was it about seeing that insolent boy completely helpless, trussed up like a turkey, unable to even see his surroundings or call for help, that made Arthur's blood boil?

Arthur downed his goblet and went to refill it before turning to stare at Merlin again. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to pull his eyes away—though he suddenly wished he could. Elyan was on the table, kneeling next to Merlin. He’d poured the entire bowl of gravy over Merlin's back. It dripped down his sides and followed the slope of his spine until it pooled around his neck. Leon had a chunk of bread in his hand and was alternately dipping it into the gravy or simply licking the sauce straight from Merlin's back with his tongue. It was a scene straight from one of Arthur's fantasies… except it would be him there, of course, licking and sucking and biting all that gorgeous flesh… 

Percival approached the table, nodded to Leon, and then spun the platter around so that Merlin's arse pointed towards him. Leon repositioned himself and kept lapping up gravy. But Percival…

Damn, Percival had a huge dick. It was as oversized as the rest of him. He pried his fingers around the edges of the carrot and pulled the entire vegetable out. It slid easily, obviously greased. Percival immediately slid his hand in where it had been, one finger, two… oh gods, the whole hand? How was that even possible? Merlin jerked and shuddered, and Percival patted him gently on the buttocks. He was muttering an endless string of words, but Arthur could not hear them… since when had his hearing gone all fuzzy?

After a much too long time in which Merlin convulsed a bit like he was dying, Percival pulled his hand out so he could insert his dick, which seemed almost as big. He hooked a hand onto each of Merlin's hips and started thrusting in like a wild thing. The sight of it made Arthur's blood boil as if the very vessels that carried it were on fire. 

Arms wrapped around him from behind, rubbing up his chest and down his abs. Elyan’s chin rested on Arthur's shoulder, and he murmured into his ear, “Better not to look, yeah? Let me take care of you.”

Arthur nodded and melted into Elyan’s embrace, but he could not stop watching as Leon used Merlin as a serving dish and Percival fucked the boy into the table. Elyan squeezed him, almost like a hug, and then sucked on Arthur's neck while his hands got to work. Elyan quickly found Arthur's cock and pulled at it in frantic strokes. It should still have been sensitive from earlier—something in that wine was was seriously messing with his body's normal reactions. The hot need grew inside of him unabated. Elyan pressed his own arousal into Arthur's arse, rubbing it against him on every stroke of his hand. All the while they both watched as Percival tried to split Merlin apart. 

Just when Arthur thought he could endure no more, Elyan bit hard into his neck and fell still. The pain was surprisingly stimulating, and Arthur came with a muffled moan. Despite everything that had happened this evening, despite the overwhelming rush of ecstasy pulsing through him, he was not ready to let himself go entirely. Percival might scream out his completion as he collapsed over Merlin’s gravy-covered back (a sight that would be seared into his memories forever), but Arthur was not quite that free and uninhibited. And he better not ever be, for in that moment he would cave and fuck Merlin, and everything would be ruined between them. 

He couldn't let that happen. 

Elyan slid around to the front of Arthur's body, wrapped him in his arms, and kissed him passionately. The kiss was open-mouthed and deep. Elyan’s mouth burned where it touched him, and yet— Arthur couldn't take his eyes off of Merlin. Leon had climbed off the table once Percival was thrusting so hard that Merlin's body was jerking around the table. As soon as Percival picked himself off of Merlin's back (at which point he had to strip down to his bare chest because his tunic was covered with gravy), Leon pulled the platter over to have a turn. 

Leon left Merlin’s body at just the right angle for Arthur to see Merlin's hole. It was red and puffy and dripping with come. Leon put a hand on each arse cheek and leaned his face into Merlin's crack… and… was he licking? Yes, yes, he was licking Merlin clean, carefully, thoroughly, not missing a drop, as if consuming the tastiest of delicacies. Soon his face was completely buried in Merlin's arse, as if he were trying to press his tongue all the way into the hole… and now that Arthur thought about it, that was probably exactly what he was doing. 

Elyan stopped kissing him, shook his head, and lay it on Arthur's shoulder. After a moment, he said, “You should stop denying yourself, Arthur. Everyone knows he wants you as much as you want him. Why else would he have come up with this idea? He thought it would cheer you up!” 

Arthur heard what Elyan said, but it was hard to consider his words when the heat in his belly was building. The longer he watched Leon caring so gently for Merlin, the stronger Arthur's desire was to do the same… well, ravish him thoroughly, and then… That boy deserved to be lavished with love and attention. Arthur was not blind; he could see how much Merlin did for him, how Arthur worked him to the bone, and yet he still always had a cheerful insult and brilliant smile just for him. He was quite certain that there was more going on with Merlin than Arthur realised. That boy was always disappearing right before some miraculous stroke of luck saved Arthur —or all of Camelot. He had long since decided it wasn't a coincidence. And while it stung to know that Merlin didn't trust him with everything, the mystery was rather alluring. Besides, Arthur knew very well that there were plenty of good reasons that someone might need to keep a secret from him. His father was to blame for a large part of that, true… but Arthur himself was not blameless. 

He always hoped that Merlin would forgive him this, just as he would forgive Merlin for any secrets. How could he not, when they were so clearly meant to be together?

Arthur sucked in a huge draught of air. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was so bloody obvious! They belonged together. How had he not seen it before? And he called _Merlin_ the idiot! What the _hell_ had he been thinking?

A distant voice in the back of his head said that Arthur had been thinking that he loved the idiot and hadn't wanted to take advantage of him. But that all seemed so foolish when the truth was staring him in the face. Arthur loved Merlin as much as Merlin loved Arthur, and that was a whole freaking hell of a lot. 

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. If Elyan was to be believed, the idiot had done all this… just to make Arthur happy. Could it be? 

“Gwaine!” he choked. Gwaine would know. Gwaine wouldn't give up Merlin without a fight unless he thought it was in Merlin's best interests. No matter how licentious Gwaine might be, he would never allow anything truly harmful to happen to Merlin. 

Gwaine had somehow lost all his clothing and was sitting stark naked in Percival’s lap, licking the gravy off that heavily muscled chest. When he heard Arthur's call—more of a croak, really—he peeled himself off of Percival’s also very naked lap and sauntered over to Arthur, a smug grin on his face. 

“Gwaine! Is it true? Does Mer—” 

Gwaine slapped his hand across Arthur's mouth. “Just a second there, Princess.” Then he looked at Elyan. “Hey, Ellie, if you want your chance, you'd better go now… I gotta feelin’ it won't be ‘vailable much longer.”

A wild look flashed over Elyan’s face, and he scurried away. Gwaine nodded as if acknowledging a job well done. A different sort of fire kindled in Arthur's belly, but it was a heat that also burnt in his heart and mind. Arthur wasn't ready to examine it; he had a rival to vanquish… er, a friend to question. 

Once Elyan had disappeared (who was Arthur kidding; he could see him over at the table pulling the apple out of Merlin's mouth and taking a bite), Gwaine removed his hand from Arthur's mouth. Then he leaned forward and kissed him fiercely, running his hands through Arthur's hair. When Arthur tried to pull away, Gwaine used his hands on Arthur's head to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. The wine’s insatiable call was still strong, and the feeling of Gwaine pressed against him was electrifying. 

But focus. There was something he ought to be doing, something to ask… It was so hard to think when Gwaine whipped out a knife and sliced through Arthur's tunic from top to bottom. Ah, the cool air felt so good on his burning skin; Gwaine’s hands felt so good running down his chest. His cock was hard again, an impossibility, and yet it was. What was in that spice? Sorcery? At this point Arthur wouldn't doubt it. 

“I can't miss my last chance with the Princess now, can I? And may I just say, you are one mighty fine princess. The prettiest princess to ever prince. What I wouldn't give to be able to fuck you into that fancy princess bed of yours…”

The more Gwaine rubbed his hands over Arthur's body, the hotter Arthur's blood burned. Gwaine certainly knew what he was doing; Arthur had no idea that touching his nipples like _that_ could ever feel so intoxicating. Gwaine’s hands moved sensuously from his chest to neck to abs to hips. They deftly unfastened Arthur's come-soaked trousers and yanked them down. 

“You really are a gorgeous prat. Merlin is one lucky bastard.” Gwaine knelt in front of him (a sight Arthur would likely never see again) and slid his mouth around Arthur's over-stimulated cock. It burned both in pain and pleasure, and this time Arthur didn't bother trying to stay quiet. He groaned with the intensity of it and then yelled, “Faster, damn it! Faster! Now!”

Gwaine pulled off, in direct opposition to Arthur's commands. “Once a bossy prat, always a bossy prat.” He smirked up at Arthur, who thought he might spontaneously combust any second. 

Arthur growled. “Get on with it, you lout!”

Miraculously, Gwaine did. He let Arthur press his cock all the way to the very back of Gwaine’s throat. It took no more than half a dozen thrusts before Arthur was screaming, half in relief, half in bliss. Arthur's seed spurt down Gwaine’s throat and was immediately swallowed. 

Arthur stood there panting desperately for breath. His muscles were shaking, and sweat dripped down his chest. Gwaine licked at Arthur's skin, tasting the beads of perspiration. 

“You taste so fucking good. Like a real fairy tale princess should.”

Fresh from his orgasm, Arthur had regained a bit of control. Focus. He needed to know about Merlin.

“Does Merlin—”

“Gods, you two are just alike. Except with Merlin it's always _Arthur this_ and _Arthur that_. Sickening, really. I don't know how it was even possible for you to screw up this badly, Arthur.”

Arthur's forehead wrinkled. “Screwed up? What—”

“That boy's been pining for you for years now, Princess. _Years_. It's about time you got your act together. Oh look, Elyan’s about done over there. Maybe you'll want to claim your boy, then, ‘afore anyone gets the notion to go for seconds.”

Arthur felt dizzy with it all: the heat, the insatiable desire, Gwaine’s words, the knowledge that Merlin could be his… He tried to move over to the Round Table, but wobbled and swayed too much. Gwaine put his arm around his shoulders and helped him walk. 

“I see I gotta do everything around here. Throw the killer party, teach the king to relax, bring the two cock-blocked love birds together, carry the king's sorry arse to his true love once he's relaxed a little too much… I had better at least get a thank you out of this or I'll dye all your clothing pink.”

“Gwaine?” It took effort to speak, but Arthur bit the word out.

“Is this where you thank me with a big sloppy kiss?” If Gwaine were a cat, he'd be purring with satisfaction now. That couldn't be allowed. 

“No, this is where I tell you to shut up.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are cracked

Arthur stepped away from Gwaine and leaned against the Round Table, still not ready to trust his feet. Merlin was there, so very close. All Arthur had to do was reach out and touch him… finally possess the boy he’d been pining after for ages. 

Now that he knew it was reciprocated, Arthur could admit to _some_ longing. Not too much, mind you, but some. Mixed with a healthy serving of lust. Could anyone blame him? Just look at the boy!

And look he did. 

He was gorgeous. Utterly debauched, of course, and Arthur was irked that he hadn't been the one to do it. But he knew that if Merlin hadn't offered himself up like this, Arthur could never have let himself indulge. It was so very clear that Merlin was willing when he had given himself to everyone, just for the chance to be with Arthur… If Gwaine could be believed. Could he be believed?

Yes, in this matter, yes, yes, he could. Gwaine loved Merlin like a brother—or, perhaps, more than a brother—and he would never encourage this if he didn't think it right. 

Frissons of excitement ran through Arthur's body like tiny sparks of lightning as he finally allowed himself to believe that Merlin could be his. 

Merlin was sweating despite the cool air. He had been doused in gravy and then partially cleaned, leaving Arthur with the strongest urge to lick the rest of it off. His arse was still sticking up in the air, red and swollen and dripping—better not consider what it was dripping with. Arthur scooted around the table so he could see Merlin’s beautiful face. He was flushed so very red, red as a cherry that Arthur would swallow in one gulp. The apple was jammed in his mouth, though many bites had been taken out of it. The red silken cloth still covered his eyes. 

Merlin couldn't see. He didn't know it was Arthur. 

This was freeing in a way Arthur never expected. The object of his fantasies (who also happened to be his beloved) was laid out for him in offering. Arthur could do whatever he liked, and… and there would be no consequences, no recriminations. It would be welcomed, not because Arthur was King, not because he was Merlin's master, but because Merlin had _freely offered himself—to his friends, and to Arthur_. 

And hadn't Arthur fantasised about this moment? Hadn't he had _ideas_ about what he wanted to do to Merlin on this very table? How many council sessions had he sat through, constantly aware of his proximity to Merlin, even if the boy stood behind him? How many times had he dreamed of taking Merlin on the Round Table, the table where Merlin had stood by him as his greatest supporter? (The table where Merlin had no official seat. But… that could be remedied. Because Merlin was like air—completely necessary for Arthur's survival.)

Arthur wasn't sure he'd ever have the guts to live his fantasies again, at least not quite like this. And knowing that Merlin was willing…

Ever since their first few meetings, Arthur had wanted to subdue that boy—have him fully submit to Arthur (at least for a little while). Even though Arthur had landed a blow with a mace and sent Merlin to the dungeons, he hadn't felt at all victorious. Merlin had stood up to him… and even though Arthur was the prince and could lay down the force of the law, he knew that had things been equal, that insolent boy would have gotten the best of him. And ever since then… 

Ever since then Arthur had longed to possess him, to dominate him, to have his wicked way with him. 

And now was his chance. 

Part of him wanted to scoop Merlin up into his arms, gently clean him, and take him to bed. But… maybe it was the spice in the wine… but Arthur knew that it was now or never. 

Decision made, he felt stronger, more confident, secure on his feet once again. He knew what he wanted; and he also knew that he didn't want Merlin to know it was him. If Merlin knew… Arthur wouldn't be able to do it. But under cover of anonymity… If he could claim it was only the drug…

Why not let his fantasies come to life?

He pressed both hands onto the boy's back. It was sticky from the gravy, but still a lovely expanse of skin that Arthur finally allowed himself to touch. He was gentle, so gentle, running his hands over every part of that beautiful back. Merlin trembled under his touch, and the feeling of power that blasted its way through Arthur's body was a feeling unlike any he had experienced before. Even if he were king of the entire fucking world, he couldn't feel more powerful than he did in that moment. 

But this was not the position he wanted Merlin in, not if he was to bring his fantasies to life. He would have to change that. 

Arthur had a blade stashed away in his boot, of course he did. Good thing, too, because you never knew when you might need to cut someone's hands loose (so that you could retie them in a more compromising position). 

Gwaine was back in Percival’s lap but was watching Arthur closely, ready to be of help. Arthur mimed what he wanted, and Gwaine nodded and scurried off. He came right back with more rope; it made Arthur's heart beat faster just looking at it. 

He reached under Merlin’s arse, where the boy's wrists were tied behind his knees, and carefully cut the rope there. Arthur pulled the arm closest to him out and gently rubbed the wrist before setting it down on the table. Merlin must be horribly stiff after having been stuck in one position for hours, and there was no joy in hurting him unnecessarily. Once he had done the same with the other wrist, Arthur reached around Merlin's curled up body and pulled him into his arms. He kept pressure off of the boy's arse, as Arthur didn't want to exacerbate any potential soreness. (Just the memory of watching Percival stick his hand up Merlin's hole made Arthur sore—and more than a little turned on. What would it be like to know you were completely inside someone's most intimate place? That your touch could render pleasure or pain with the slightest twitch?)

Arthur was not sure he could go through with this if Merlin knew it was him. The blindfold had to stay. But he also wanted the boy to be able to protest, should things go in a way he didn't want. So although the idea of a gag was thrilling (how else could he ever get Merlin to shut up?), Arthur removed the apple from his mouth.

Arthur allowed himself to cuddle the boy in his arms. Hold him safe, close—hadn't he long dreamt of this? But there would be plenty of time for that later. Tonight was a chance he might never have again… not quite the same way. Not as a first time, not with the lack of constraints that anonymity offered, not after an evening of such freedom and joy. 

So he cuddled for just moment, holding that beloved body close, closer than he ever had before. But then Gwaine was there to move things along. Arthur needed to speak to Merlin, though. He whispered into his ear, hoping that the boy would be so far gone that he wouldn't recognise Arthur's voice. And even if he did, they could pretend that he hadn't. Plausible deniability. But Arthur had things he needed Merlin to know. And so he whispered. 

“You've done so well, love, so very well. You have been spectacular. And I need you to be good for me, just a little longer. Just a little more, and then you can rest. I promise I'll take such good care of you, sweetheart. Just one more thing. Okay?”

Merlin nodded. The movement was weak; he must be exhausted. He was curled up in Arthur's arms like a tired little kitten, but they were almost done. Just a little more…

It didn't escape Arthur's notice that the boy was as warm as an oven. Sweat poured off of him, and despite his weakness he squirmed uncomfortably. Merlin was desperate for relief, and that just made this all the sweeter. 

Arthur nodded, and Gwaine pulled one of Merlin's wrists from his huddled up form and tied the rope around it. He quickly attached ropes to his other wrist and both ankles. Gwaine then swept his arms across the Round Table and pushed all the remaining dishes onto the floor. The resulting crash caused Merlin to jerk in Arthur's arms and let out a small cry of distress. Arthur petted his forehead and hair gently, whispering to him, “It's okay, I've got you, I won't let anything happen to you, I promise.”

Once the table was cleared, Arthur and Gwaine stretched Merlin out on his back across the middle of the table. They pulled tight the rope on each of his limbs and fastened it under the table. And then they stepped away to admire the sight. 

Merlin lay on his back, spread-eagled, limbs stretched apart in an X. His eyes were still covered with the red cloth—Pendragon red, Arthur thought, and he vowed at that moment that Merlin should wear no other colour for the rest of his life. Seeing that mark of ownership on him, no matter how inadvertent, thrilled Arthur in a way that owning castles and treasures couldn't. 

After a full evening of seeing only his back, Merlin’s chest was finally exposed. It was as gorgeous as the rest of him, pale and slender, speckled with dark hair. The two pink nipples reminded Arthur of tiny flowers in the midst of a delightful garden, and he longed to suck on them. And he would… he just needed to examine the boy a little longer…

Merlin's cock stood in stark contrast to all that smooth, white skin. It was a dark, angry purple. Gwaine had indeed wrapped it in string, several cords pulled into a criss-crossing diamond pattern. It was erect and straining, a beautiful gift that Arthur would be delighted to unwrap. When it was time. But not yet. 

For now, it was finally time to touch. 

He was aware of the other knights looking on, Gwaine completely nude in Percival’s lap, while Leon rutted into Elyan’s arse from behind. But all eyes were on Arthur. And he was glad of it. Let them see him claim Merlin as his own. Let them see that Merlin was _his_ , and that they could never have him again. 

Arthur climbed onto the table next to Merlin, still in awe that all that flesh was there just for him. He placed his hands on the place where the boy's rib cage gave way to the soft flesh of the belly and marvelled at the feel of the individual bones under his hands. So delicate, so breakable… A huge wave of protectiveness crashed through Arthur, a burning knowledge that since Merlin was his, it was his duty to keep him safe and happy. 

At this realisation, Arthur couldn't hold himself back anymore. He had to kiss him now, or he might explode from the want of it. His lips pressed against Merlin's dry ones; after a short pause in which Arthur revelled in the feeling, he plunged his tongue deep inside the boy’s mouth. Merlin's tongue pushed back against his, and soon it was a battle, just as all their interactions had been since the very beginning. 

Even as he relished the kiss, the heat in his blood wouldn't let him rest. The longer he touched Merlin, the more the intolerable heat seared through his tissues, slowly coalescing into his cock. If he waited much longer, it would soon turn into unmitigated agony. 

But Merlin had waited all night. Arthur could manage for a little longer. 

He pulled away from the kiss. Merlin lifted his head to follow after him, but he couldn't get far. Arthur moved on to his neck, that long, graceful neck, the one that was too often covered with neckerchiefs. Arthur would have to do away with those, permanently. It could be in the same decree that made Merlin's official seat in Arthur's lap. Wasn't it great to be king?

He sucked and nibbled at that succulent neck until it was peppered in red spots. Then he moved on, licking his way across both collarbones and moving at last to the sweet pink nipples. He sucked at one, feeling it pebble under his tongue, and stroked and squeezed the other with his fingers. Merlin moaned as if in pain, and maybe he was. But it was a good kind of pain, the best kind of pain, and Arthur didn't let up until his own cock was ready to explode. Then he pulled away for a moment, needing to calm himself down before he ruined everything prematurely. 

When he was ready again, he lay his face on Merlin's soft belly. He nuzzled into it, delighted at the smooth feel of the skin and the rougher texture of the few hairs that grew there. It was an ideal place to lay one's head; perhaps he'd make a decree about the new royal pillow too. 

He kissed and licked at the skin, following the line of hair down until he arrived at the nest of curls at the base of Merlin's straining cock. Arthur licked his way up to the tip, swiping at the diamond-shaped patches of skin between the cords. 

His cock was so hot it burnt Arthur's tongue. Merlin groaned as Arthur licked. When he finally took the whole thing into his mouth, cords and all, Merlin yelled out, though whether it was in pleasure or pain Arthur couldn't tell. Probably both. But he didn't say to stop, so Arthur sucked awhile longer. All the while Merlin's yells grew louder and louder. 

Arthur abruptly let go and backed away from Merlin. He wanted to play a little game and hoped that Merlin would be willing. He crawled up so that his mouth was by Merlin’s ear and started sucking on the ear lobe. After a few sucks, he stopped and whispered, “If you don't keep quiet, I'll have to punish you. You understand?” Then he started licking and sucking at the shell of ear. Merlin moaned and tried to nod his head, but Arthur bit at his ear to keep him from moving. “Stop whining and speak like a person, unless you aren't one. Now, tell me, do you understand?”

Merlin swallowed and whispered, “Yes.” It was barely audible. 

Arthur bit down harder on the ear. “You'll have to do better than that.”

This time the answer was louder but still not enough. “Louder!” Arthur hissed in his ear. “Do you understand?” 

“Yes!” Merlin yelled. It was not very energetic, but considering everything the boy had been through tonight, it would do. 

“Yes, what?” growled Arthur. 

“Yes, sire!” Merlin yelled as best he could. 

Of course Merlin knew it was him; how could there have ever been any doubt? But now that they had started and Arthur hadn't been rejected, it was easier to go on. He still left the blindfold on to keep up the pretence. And to keep Merlin guessing. 

Arthur moved back to Merlin's cock and sucked on it more enthusiastically than before. Merlin's body shook with it. His lips were pressed together and he struggled to stay quiet as instructed. He started biting on the bottom lip, making every effort—

But Arthur was determined to break him. Despite the cords wrapped round Merlin's cock, Arthur sucked and pulled in the rhythm that always worked best when jerking himself off. With one hand Arthur massaged at the boy's balls while the other hand snuck under his arse and started exploring around the boy’s hole. It was very slippery back there, oil from when Gwaine had inserted the carrot mixed with the other knights’ spunk. Arthur's fingers slid right in. He began thrusting into the hole each time he sucked, angling his fingers until he found just the right spot…

“Ahhhhhh!” 

Arthur had won. He stopped everything and said, no longer trying to disguise his voice, “I told you to be quiet. Disobedient servants must be punished. Gwaine!”

Gwaine jumped off Percival’s lap. From the look of things, those two had been enjoying each other immensely. But ever-faithful Gwaine was right there to help. 

“Flip him!” 

Gwaine was expedient at untying and retying the ropes, probably a skill gained from years of practice. Arthur did the actual flipping, not willing for Gwaine to get his filthy paws on Merlin ever again. 

Merlin's cock was now pressed against the table by his own body weight. It couldn't be pleasant. At least Arthur was perfect willing to hurry things up. 

But first, the punishment. He still remembered how Elyan had slapped Merlin's arse at the beginning of the feast— and how vivid of a mark it had left. Now Arthur would erase all memory of Elyan having ever touched him there. Arthur would mark it all and everyone would know who Merlin’s arse belonged to. 

(He remembered Merlin’s comments about Arthur's lazy arse, and supposed that his arse now belonged to Merlin too. But there would be plenty of time for worrying about that later.)

Before Arthur started, he leaned down over Merlin's head and whispered, “Just say the word, and I'll stop.”

Merlin muttered back, “Don't be such a clotpole.” 

All right then. He'd asked for it. 

The first slap to the buttocks left the most glorious red handprint. Arthur stopped to admire it. But then a weak voice said, “I knew you were a lazy arse.” 

What an insolent little minx! 

Arthur began spanking for real, now, hard and fast. The skin was so red, almost Pendragon red, and Arthur thought he might need to write a decree or two about the proper punishment of mouthy servants. 

Merlin yelled with each blow, but he never asked to stop. At last it was Arthur who could take it no more. If he waited any longer, he would come untouched instead of inside of Merlin where he belonged. He had to claim that space as his own, too, wipe away all traces that anyone else had ever been there. 

Instead of slapping, Arthur placed both hands on the arse cheeks and spread them. Merlin's hole was puffy and inflamed from the use it had been put to earlier. Arthur was compelled to lick at it tenderly, willing it to hold on for one more time. He licked and kissed and pushed his tongue into the hole, but at last he could wait no more. 

Arthur pulled his straining cock out of his mostly undone, damp and sticky trousers. The angle was difficult with Merlin's legs tied down, but Arthur would manage. How could he not, when such a tasty treat was spread open here on the Round Table, just for him? 

(Just for him _now_ , at least. Maybe Arthur should think up some royal decrees regarding the punishment of knights who had taken advantage of the king's manservant as a way to show said king that he was a clueless idiot.)

He knelt between Merlin's spread out legs, grabbed him at the hips, pulled his arse up a slight way, and then—finally, after hours (and years)—he slid his way in. It was easy, as Merlin had already been drenched in oil and stretched out considerably. In the future (and there would be a long and happy future; Arthur would make another decree if he had to), Arthur would enjoy working him open. But for now, the burning need that had been building up for hours (and years) pushed him on. The way in was so smooth that he could begin thrusting immediately. Merlin was so very hot, making Arthur's cock tingle, almost painfully, like a sleeping limb that was being forced awake. 

More than just coming awake, it felt like coming alive. 

But then Arthur realised something was wrong. Merlin ought to be experiencing this with him. They should both experience this—both come alive—together. 

It was a cruel torture, but he stopped thrusting. With Merlin's hips in his hands, it was not difficult to reach the boy’s cock. The strings seemed complicated, but they were only fastened with a slip knot. There was one loose string to pull, and the designs all unravelled. Merlin’s entire body shuddered violently as the string fell away, and Arthur knew he had to hurry. He resumed thrusting, crazed now with need and desire. His bones felt like mud left in the too hot sun; they would burst into powdered dust if he didn't assuage this need _now_. 

Arthur kept one hand on Merlin's cock as he thrust deep inside of him… once, twice, and then the intensity of his release washed over him with such fury that he screamed with the force of it. Underneath him Merlin screamed and convulsed, shaking so much he might fly apart. He screamed again, and there was a great cracking sound. The candles flared up like mini bonfires. A moment of stillness stretched out as taut as a string on a lyre. Then a second crack echoed through the room, and the Round Table collapsed inwards in a vee shape, split down the centre. Arthur fell onto Merlin and they both slid into the middle of the table, landing on the crack just above the floor. Merlin yelled in pain, and Arthur realised he was still tied at wrists and ankles and was being pulled apart as the table fell in multiple directions. 

Arthur scrambled to get off of him, as his added weight couldn't possibly help. He tried to reach for the knife in his boot, but by the time he got a hand on it, the knights had already come to cut Merlin free. Arthur reached for him and clutched him to his chest. He panted for breath, while his heart hammered violently against his rib cage. Merlin huddled in Arthur's arms, emitting small moans rather like a mewling kitten. 

The room fell still, everyone paralysed by the shock of what had just happened. 

“What the hell was that?” Arthur said, still clutching Merlin to him protectively. 

No one answered. 

Until Merlin said, “I told you the all-porridge diet wasn't good enough. Not only have I had to add holes to your belt, but now I have to find you a new table, damn it.”

Arthur only felt slightly remorseful when he bopped Merlin on the nose.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merlin finally has his say

Merlin sighed happily. Who cared if he was exhausted and sore, naked on the ruined remains of a priceless, symbolic table? At long last he was finally being cuddled by the number one turniphead extraordinaire. Merlin might be too weary to lift his eyelids, but there was no mistaking the tender way that Arthur held him. And that was worth any number of cuts and bruises and cringeworthy jokes made at their expense. Gwaine never did know when to shut up. 

“Can't say I ever saw a table-shattering orgasm, ‘afore. Now that, princesses and gentlefolk, is t’ way ta get it done!”

The knights all laughed, and a great tension fled the room, chased away by the sounds of merriment and friendship. It was delightful. 

Merlin was too tired to laugh, too tired to move, too tired to think. His body had been wrung out with pain and pleasure, and he wasn't sure it would ever quite respond to his commands as it had before. It didn't matter that half of his body was stretched out over stone rubble; he was rushing pell-mell for sleep at a speed which brooked no defiance. 

There was a slight niggling worry that made it impossible to relax completely, though. Something had happened, and Merlin knew he ought to be concerned about it. It was important… But he was so sleepy. He could worry about it later. 

“Arthur—” he tried to say, but was cut off by another jaw-wrenching yawn. 

“Later, Merlin,” that pompous, beloved voice murmured into his ear. “We can talk about it later. Now… sleep.”

Merlin was not one to ever take Arthur's orders lying down… but since he was already lying down… for once his compliance was immediate and absolute. 

—-

Merlin woke up in the most comfortable bed he had ever had the fortune of sleeping in. Strong arms were wrapped around him, and despite Merlin being fully able to protect himself from all manner of evils, it felt safe and comforting to be so shielded from the perils of reality—even if those perils were only frigid air and the brilliant sunshine that burned through his eyelids and threatened to wake him fully. Merlin ducked his head back into Arthur's warm chest and let himself drift back to sleep. 

The second time Merlin woke, it was dark in the room. He must have slept through all of the day’s light… though at this, the darkest time of the year, that wasn't saying much. 

Arthur's arms were still around him, but they were no longer heavy with the deep relaxation of sleep. Merlin finally pried his eyelids open. He was startled to see Arthur staring down at him, his bright blue eyes illuminated in the light of a single, golden candle. The expression on Arthur's face was one of such unguarded love that it took Merlin's breath away. 

“Hello, there.” Arthur's voice sounded very uncharacteristic, not at all pompous or pratty. Instead, it sounded almost… shy? Maybe anxious? Since when did Arthur get shy or anxious? That was ridiculous, and Merlin needed to put a stop to that right now. 

“Good morning, sire! Or should I say evening? Night? Are you sure you should be allowed in this bed after what you did to that table? You really can't afford to go around breaking all the furniture, no matter how great and mighty of a king you are. I don't think the treasury can afford it after the year we've had…”

Arthur growled at him, which was much more familiar territory. As thrilling as it had been to see, Merlin wasn't sure how comfortable he felt with the naked adoration that had been shining in Arthur's eyes. 

But then Arthur slid back into silence, and Merlin relished the cosiness of finally, at long last, being held by the man he loved. It was peaceful, perfect—and he was completely unprepared for what happened next. 

“I shouldn't have to worry about that too much, should I, _Mer_ lin? I imagine you'd be able to fix it without too much difficulty. Maybe just a flash of those gorgeous eyes of yours?”

Magic. He must know about the magic! That's what had been bothering Merlin before he fell asleep—his magic had flared out of control, and of course Arthur would have figured it out. Merlin jerked with sudden panic. Arthur's strong arms, the ones that had seemed so loving just a moment ago, now felt like iron chains, holding him in, crushing him, preparing to squeeze him to death. He needed oxygen, but his chest wouldn't expand… gods, was he going to die right after the sweetest moments of his life, asphyxiated by the man he loved?

“Breathe, Merlin! Breathe! In, out, in, out… just like me… yes, that's it, that's the way, in, out, in… You're going to be fine, idiot… just keep breathing…”

Wait, what? Why would Arthur be cajoling him to breathe if he was trying to kill him? Even though he was a turniphead and a prat, Arthur wasn't _that_ much of an idiot, right?

Merlin focused on his words and tried to do as they asked… breathe… breathe… in… out… It was hard when he was panting for breath, heart racing, muscles trembling. He was hot, hot, much too hot; sweat poured off of him in rivulets. But slowly, painfully, he managed to do it: in, out, in, out, just like Arthur. 

Eventually, Merlin succeeded in calming his breathing. His heart still beat erratically, but it was slower than it had been. The heat of panic evaporated, and Merlin shivered as his perspiration dried in the chilly winter air. 

“That's better, you idiot. Why would I bring you to bed and, heaven help me, _cuddle_ you, if I was just going to turn around and have you killed? Honestly, Merlin. I swear my horse has more common sense than you.”

Merlin dearly wanted to protest that last bit and maybe regale Arthur with some kinky stories involving sex and murder, but he was still trying to keep his breath steady. And Arthur didn't let him sneak a word in anyway. 

“And, seriously, Merlin, a table-shattering orgasm? Could you have _been_ any more obvious? Though I have to thank you for waiting for my turn… if that had happened with Gwaine, I could never have borne it. Can you imagine how smug that git would be? It would be completely intolerable. I'd have to exile him just so I wouldn't have to listen to him boast about his prowess anymore.”

Damn. Arthur was liable to be just as obnoxious about it as Gwaine. Worse, since he was an arrogant prat. 

“Arth—” Merlin’s mouth was horribly dry, and he broke into a coughing fit. 

“Shh, you idiot.” Arthur sat up, pulling Merlin with him. Then he reached over to the bed table for some water and passed the cup to Merlin. “See, I can't even trust you to know how to talk without hurting yourself.”

Merlin drank deeply. Then he tried again. “Aren't you mad?” His voice was weak and he didn't want to continue, but he forced himself to. “Don't you think I'm evil? That I’m only here to betray you?”

Arthur snorted and laughed loudly. “You, a traitor? Let's see… you let Gwaine _stick a raw carrot up your arse_ because you thought it would make me happy. There is _no way_ anyone would allow that to happen, especially not someone with the magical power to stop it, unless they truly wanted to do it. Think of the traitors we've known. I guarantee you not a single one of them would ever stuff a carrot up their butt in an attempt to make me happy.”

Merlin couldn't help it—he burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Giggles, really. Of all the things that would convince Arthur that he was no traitor… a carrot up the arse… oh, gods. He couldn't help giggling all the harder. 

Arthur laughed right along with him. Merlin buzzed with happiness: his secret had been discovered, and instead of hating him, Arthur held him in his arms and laughed. It was one of the happiest moments of Merlin's entire life. 

At last they calmed down. Eventually, Arthur said, “I really do owe Gwaine a big thank you. If it hadn't been for that spice of his—”

“Oh, Gwaine's spice?” Merlin couldn't help but interrupt. “That was nothing.” 

“What are you nattering on about, _Mer_ lin? If it hadn't been for that spice, there's no way—”

“Gwaine's spice was a total sham. It might have had some minor effects when it was first harvested, but time had aged it into impotency. Trust me—I tried it.”

Arthur grabbed Merlin and twisted him around so that they were looking at each other. Up close, Arthur's eyes were so incredibly blue. Merlin wanted to fall into them and luxuriate in the colour. 

“But— The wine— It was drugged!”

Merlin smirked, rather pleased with himself. “Did you like it? I spent a whole week coming up with the spell to make Gwaine's “spice” so effective. The knights think it's all gone, but— Well, since you know about me now, there's nothing stopping that spice from making a magical reappearance.”

Arthur stared at him, speechless. Merlin worried that he had gone too far, admitted to too much for such an early and potentially fragile stage of their new relationship. He was about to open his mouth and apologise when Arthur kissed him. 

The kiss was long and deep and oh-so-sweet. Merlin kissed back for all he was worth, relishing the freedom to be able to finally touch Arthur. He ran his hands through the golden hair and down that beautiful body. Arthur was dressed in night clothes, as was Merlin, since the air was much too frigid to go without. Merlin could feel the lines and definition of Arthur's muscles everywhere he touched. It was exhilarating to finally be allowed to touch this magnificent body. He had dreamed of it for years, but had always known that there was too much dividing the two of them for this to ever be possible. The magic alone had been enough to doom them from the start. 

Arthur pulled away from kissing him to say, “I love the way you glow when you look at me. You make me feel like I could accomplish anything… like I could be the best king the world has ever seen.”

Merlin couldn't help leaning forwards to kiss Arthur's cheek before saying, “You _will_ be the best king the world has ever seen. And I'll help you get there. I promise.”

Arthur sighed, contented, and then pulled Merlin tight against his body. But another question was bothering Merlin, so he wriggled away. 

“If you like it so much when I look at you, why use the blindfold last night?”

Did Arthur frown? Was that a downturn of his lips? 

He took a deep breath before answering. “I just— always fantasised. About… taking you. Like that. You're… so impertinent. And—you never do as you're told… and I just wanted to—”

“You just wanted me to behave for once, was that it?” Arthur's face was bright red, and Merlin knew he had hit the nail on the head. “Did you think that I wouldn't want that?”

Arthur bit his lip. “Why would you? The entire point of your existence seems to be to challenge and question me at every turn.”

Perhaps Merlin had fallen through a mirror sometime in the last day; suddenly all his certainties about the world were turned upside down. Arthur being uncertain? And sweet? And accepting the magic without batting an eye? Perhaps it was time for Merlin to lower his defenses too. 

“Part of the reason for that is that I had extra knowledge and responsibilities that you haven't known about. I couldn't share them with you… but I couldn't ignore them either. So I've always had to evaluate your orders as part of a bigger picture. Not that I would ever work against you—though sometimes it might look that way.”

“That has to stop, Merlin. I need to know as much as possible if I am to make the correct decisions for my people.”

“Of course! But as for your question… You didn't need to hide from me. Do you know how great it felt to know that I didn't have to question or second-guess you? That I could follow you and please you and not have to spend most of my energy worrying if it was in the best interests of the kingdom?”

Arthur squinted at Merlin, face twisted in a mess of confusing emotions. “I'm not sure if that's supposed to make me feel better or worse.”

Merlin huffed, an exaggerated exhalation that ruffled the golden hairs of Arthur's fringe. Arthur moved a hand to straighten them, thought better of it, and rubbed the hand roughly through Merlin's hair. To his dismay, a squawk snuck its way out of Merlin's mouth. Arthur crowed in triumph and then launched himself on top of Merlin, tickling everything he could reach. 

Merlin howled at the sensation, kicking and flailing the best he was able while being pressed into the bed by such an oversized lout. “Mercy, mercy!” he yelled, but Arthur must have really been in a mood, because he didn't stop until there were actual goddamned tears running down Merlin's cheeks. 

At last Arthur stopped tickling him. Instead he manhandled Merlin in the bed until Arthur's front was pressed firmly against Merlin's back. He wrapped his arms around Merlin’s torso and squeezed, firmly enough that Merlin knew he was being embraced, softly enough that he wasn't anxious or in pain. Merlin had never thought something like this would be possible, considering all the barriers between them, and he luxuriated in it. 

It was tempting to fall back asleep, and he almost had, when Arthur’s voice broke the stillness. “Why didn't you use your magic against me? Just now, when I was tickling you? I know you found it painful.”

The effervescent joy that had been bubbling all through him fled immediately, leaving him feeling heavy and serious. Almost sorrowful. No. Not almost. That was true sorrow causing his tear ducts to fire this time, instead of the crazed delight of a tickle war. 

“Don't you know that I would never use magic against you? You are everything to me—I could no more harm you than I could harm my mother.”

Arthur squeezed him harder, closer. Merlin recalled his panic from earlier, but now he didn't believe that Arthur would ever truly harm him. 

“But you could have… I don't know… pushed me away or something.” Arthur's voice was quiet, slow, deep. It was clear that he was thinking seriously. Feeling the full weight of Arthur's conscious regard was uncomfortable; what if he came to some negative conclusion? He might not hurt him physically, but there were so many other things Arthur could do to destroy his life. 

Merlin felt queasy as he considered what to say. In the end, honesty was the only way. 

“Arthur. Would you believe that I am the most powerful sorcerer to have ever lived?” The body holding him jerked—hopefully in surprise and not fear. Or anger. Or hatred. Merlin rushed ahead with his words before Arthur could fall into any negative spirals of thought. 

“No, no, don't say anything. Just listen. I am the one the druids call Emrys, who is prophesied to be the strongest sorcerer to ever live.” Arthur snorted behind him, and Merlin could just imagine how he must be rolling his eyes in disbelief.

“Yes, yes, laugh all you want, _sire_. But the truth of the matter is that the magic is so strong within me that I could destroy you as soon as look at you. If I wished, I could raze Camelot to the ground and bury all her people in the rubble. It's a serious thing—-a terrible thing—and not a power that I mess with lightly.”

The silence following this declaration was long and painful. Merlin focussed on his breathing, sucking the air deep into his diaphragm, trying to keep calm as he waited for an answer. 

When it came, the response was nothing like he expected. “But you used your magic on Gwaine's spice? How is that not frivolous?”

Merlin let the air whoosh out of his lungs. “Don't be such a dollophead! You were going insane with boredom! If I left you to your own devices much longer, you were going to start making ridiculous—possibly dangerous—decisions just to alleviate the tedium. I only spiced up that wine for the good of the kingdom. And I heard when the knights gave you a heads-up about it, before the feast. You can't say you weren't warned.”

“Oh, I knew full well they were up to something. There's no doubting it when Gwaine gets that look in his eye.”

As far as engaging in stressful, tense conversations went, Merlin had to appreciate how much easier it was when snuggled up with the other party. There was something about being held so closely that eased his anxiety. If they could stay like this, Merlin would be able to confess all his sins and trust that Arthur would forgive him. 

“So you didn't mind the wine? You all were so despondent…”

Arthur lay his cheek over Merlin's and nuzzled it. Their faces were both unshaven and the contact was rough, but Merlin relished it. 

“No, I can't say that I minded at all. I'm not sure I ever attended such a satisfying feast, and I doubt there will ever be another quite like it. And—”

Arthur cut himself off, but there was clearly more on his mind. 

“And?” Merlin prompted. 

“And… I loved it. Having you there, completely at my disposal, to use as I wished… It was intoxicating. And— I can't help but feel that's an abuse of my position as your master.”

Ah, there it was. Arthur and his notions of honour. 

“I already told you I didn't mind… that it was a relief to be able to make you happy without having to second-guess everything…”

Arthur turned his head so he could kiss Merlin's cheek. It was sweet, but lasted just long enough to be a promise of more things to come. 

“It is much the same with me. I spend so much time considering how everything I do might affect the kingdom. Even a simple order can have serious ramifications. I am never free to act on a whim; my power over others has to be carefully measured out for the benefit of Camelot, not myself…”

Merlin knew it was not easy for Arthur to tell him this. Anything that made him look less like an arrogant prat would be a closely guarded secret. 

“And it was so freeing… just that once… to command and take what I wanted without regard for the consequences… and to punish your insolence properly for once…”

Merlin hummed in agreement. The first roots of true delight were clawing their way into his heart, preparing to sprout into something thrilling and new. He squirmed around in Arthur's arms so that they were facing each other and pressed their foreheads together. There was one more thing to say. 

“I liked it…” he whispered, as if confessing a secret as damning as the magic. “All of it. Even the pain. If you ever want to—”

“But you're the most powerful fucking sorcerer to ever walk the earth! How can you lower yourself so… I mean, what you did for us… for me… It boggles the mind.”

“I did it for you, Arthur. Everything I am is yours. Haven't you figured that out yet? And you call me the idiot.”

Arthur put both hands on Merlin's cheeks, leaned his mouth in, and kissed him. It was a perfect kiss: neither too hard or soft, nor too wet or dry. It was sweet and gentle and Merlin could taste the love on Arthur's lips. When Arthur finally pulled away, Merlin felt the loss keenly. 

“I do have one more question… Remember what Gaius said about sorcery and the weather? About how there was no sorcerer strong enough and _malevolent enough_ to affect it? He looked at you when he said that; I saw him do it. Could you have fixed it? Could you have spared Camelot this terrible drought?”

Merlin sighed. This was a question he had asked himself more than once. And the true answer was that he didn't know. 

“I'm just… not sure, Arthur. Maybe. Theoretically, there's not much I couldn't do. It wouldn't be easy, and it's probably not something I could manage while still keeping the magic secret. But if you asked me, Arthur, of course I would try.”

Arthur shook his head, a look of awe on his face. 

“Gods, how did I ever get so lucky as to have you in my life?”

Merlin smiled, feeling happier and more like himself than he had in ages. 

“The gods knew you needed someone to keep your oversized ego in check. And don't even get me started about that waistline…”

Arthur tweaked his ear, though Merlin noticed it didn't hurt at all. 

“I meant to say, how did I ever get so _unlucky_ as to have you in my life?”

Merlin squealed and tackled Arthur, trying hard to poke him in ticklish places. It wasn't long before Merlin was flipped onto his back with Arthur on top of him, using one hand to hold his wrists together over his head and the other to tickle Merlin’s stomach. 

“Stop! Stop!” Merlin howled, torn apart with laughter and discomfort. 

Arthur paused, resting his hand on Merlin's stomach. “Mmm, I do like it when you beg. You do it so very prettily.” Then his hand moved again, but this time it rubbed smoothly, evenly, down, down, down, until it was firmly gripped around Merlin's already erect cock. He pulled at it in gentle, even strokes that felt so damn good—but which weren't nearly firm enough to bring him to completion. 

Merlin moaned as intense need built up inside him. With each stroke, he was closer and closer to a precipice that he would never reach, and it was delightful. And painful. At the same time. 

He tried to pull his hands away from Arthur so he could show Arthur the rhythm he wanted, but Arthur growled at him. Then he stopped moving completely. 

“Are you sure you meant what you said? That you… like… being ordered around? In bed?”

Damn it, why did Arthur have to have another attack of honour right now? Merlin squirmed uncomfortably, tormented by the presence of Arthur's motionless hand on his cock. 

“Yes, Arthur, yes! Now for the love of Camelot, get on with it already!”

Arthur pulled his hand away from Merlin's cock completely, chuckling as he did so. 

“I think _I'm_ the one who gets to make the orders around here, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said in his prattiest voice. Gods, he was going to be insufferable now, wasn't he? “I think you might have more luck if you begged for it…”

Merlin held his tongue, determined to not give in too easily. 

“Really, Merlin? All that talk about how you just loooooove to serve me, and this is what I get?” 

He knew it was pushing his luck, but Merlin pulled a face at Arthur, one that involved eye rolling and a wrinkled nose. 

“Oh, now you've asked for it! Hold still, or it will just be worse for you.”

When Arthur left the warm bed and braved the cold air to return with a coil of rope, a flask of oil, and something that seemed suspiciously like the paddle used for training dogs, Merlin knew it was going to be a long time before he would get any relief. A long, painful, glorious time. Hours (and years). 

(Hopefully forever.)

**Author's Note:**

> The intent is that everything in the story is consensual. But! It can be argued that Arthur didn't quite know what his drink would do. He knew it would do something and he fully embraced it. He knew the knights were up to something and went along with it. That's how Elyan convinced him to come. He could have left, but he didn't want to. But since he didn't know exactly what it would do, it can be seen as dubious consent.


End file.
